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Twenty Eight: Fashioned February 14, 2014

Posted by The Typist in 365, New Orleans, Poetry, The Narrative, The Typist, Toulouse Street.
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For Patrice Bradish

The plasticity of beauty
forms to the mold
accommodates the age
in which we live
not as in a magazine
but with the grace
of the age
in which we live
fallen leaves shaped
by the rain, bold
autumnal rainbow
your bare arms
raised into the sky
in the Hebraic Y
of I Am     I Am
as your eyes
see me

Twenty February 5, 2014

Posted by The Typist in 365, New Orleans, The Narrative, The Typist, Toulouse Street.
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Twenty was yesterday. So much happened yesterday and the day before that yesterday apparently didn’t happen. The two days were part lifeboat drill, part floating in the water watching your link to the land list and vanish, part obligations that couldn’t be missed. A 365 post did not make it into the lifeboats. The void here arose from the void in my chest, the passing feeling that love had gone away, a palpable hollowness in the chest as if something had deflated. Not a pain but the absence of one where you are sure it should be. Unspoken resentments are a poison to the soul, a toxin not processed by the liver but by honesty, by speaking your truth even when you know it will hurt everyone. In the end it is no more than the old-fashioned pulling of a rotten tooth. Best to get a good grip, yank hard, and get the damned thing out.

The day ended well, is all I can say: a belated birthday dinner at Elizabeth’s for my daughter along with my son. She and I had three cocktails each, Sazeracs for me and Sidecars for her, and no one asked for an ID when my son ordered a Maker’s Mark after dinner. A wonderful meal and a long wandering conversation with two charming adult companions. Wonderful grown children are a consolation against everything else.

The emotional dental appointment, the diagnosis having been made, will have to wait until I reach the end of the chase light calliope fun house of madness that is this week. I hope to leave with a happy, gap-toothed smile.

Ed.’s Note: There will not be a 365 post on Odd Words Thursdays. Unless I decide to write one.

Love Is All You Need November 16, 2008

Posted by The Typist in Toulouse Street.
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So I finally crawl out of a weekend of work hell and settle down to catch up on the blogs and I read all of Morwen’s (righteously) angry Prop 8 rants and the Zombie is all over the Church of the Hateful Jesus.

And then I read this from Big EZ Bear and I think: who gives a fuck what they think in Bush or Barstow, here in city that care forgot we haven’t forgotten how to care for each other, whether partners of a lifetime or a lot of strangers in the blight.

I love this city more than they love their god or their country because here we remember what that god’s son said and why this country was founded. All you need is Love along with Liberty in the Pursuit of Happiness and you end up with a Life worth living.

New Orleans has more than its share of Philistines and Pharisees but like the guys in this video we can stand up in a world full of darkness and anger and envy and jealousy and just make our own joyful noise and beam it into the world. The rest of America can hang us all from their crosses like the army of Spartacus because they hate us for our freedom and their children will still flock here because we know how to live.

All together now: